


a child of ash // a flock of doves

by JenLi



Series: Selection OC 6 [1]
Category: Selection OC
Genre: 18k of Pure Self-Hatred and Internal Monologue, F/M, Other: See Story Notes, Practice Challenge 1, Selection OC 6
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-12
Updated: 2020-05-12
Packaged: 2021-03-02 19:48:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 18,069
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24142327
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JenLi/pseuds/JenLi
Summary: Practice Challenge 1
Series: Selection OC 6 [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1742209





	a child of ash // a flock of doves

**Author's Note:**

> Hi. First, I'm very glad you're here. This is a whole ride, so thank you for being here for the practice challenge.
> 
> Second, this is kinda fucked up. It's supposed to be. Like, not extremely so, but there are some dynamics that are not comfortable. I won't say it's super bad, and if you don't get triggered, I'd encourage you to skip the spoilers, but if you think something might affect you, please click "more notes" right underneath this to read the ending notes and see any triggers that could be associated with this. Future installments will likely be much more tame, so not to worry. Stay safe first and foremost and do NOT feel obligated to read if you can't handle the triggers!!
> 
> That being said, I really enjoyed writing this story. Not sure how it ended up almost 20k, but Jen speaks, not me.

“I’d like to pose a question on you all, one that you've definitely heard before."

Her fingers were poised with pen in-hand, ready to write down the professor's next words. Her eyes were on his. Though his didn't meet hers, she knew he was aware of her stare boring into his. There was no way he couldn't be. They didn't settle on anyone in particular—Not anyone who mattered, anyway—just kept scanning the room as he continued his lecture.

"What is it that makes Illéa different from other countries?"

She felt her face fall back into boredom. She didn't write the question down. Something about it sent her back to Freshman Year when every single adjunct professor seemed to pose the same philosophical question for their students before they were released from class because they were just too lazy to think of actual material. Must've been a long night for the professor if he was resorting back to this garbage. 

"The economic prospects," the girl with the acne in the back answered, and she pressed her lips together to keep from breaking the silence with the bubbling laughter. Either she was too coked up during undergrad to remember or she was a transfer from a worse school that actually taught her things. She wasn't sure which was worse.

"No," she piped up, the professor's eyes finally settling on her own for the blessed moments she had his attention. "It was because of the complete opposite approaches our government took after the war than the others. While others largely remained the same or slightly deviated with the new shift of power, Illéa's form of government completely shifted to an absolute monarchy."

The professor remained silent for a moment as he took a few steps back to half-sit against his desk, arms crossed over his chest with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. "But so did Italy and France, did it not? Illéa was not the only country this happened to."

At the challenge in his eyes, she leaned back and narrowed hers. "That is correct, but the Italian territories have largely remained the same, and France's rulers are a joke if you look at them compared to ours. They're figureheads to an oligarchy that rule quietly while our king is considered the supreme being in the land."

"From your tone, it sounds like you disagree with this fact."

"You know how I feel." It took a moment for the comment to settle in and for her to realize how it sounded in this context. "Sir," she added only for the sake of her classmates that sat in utter shock from the disrespect.  _ If only they knew. _

Her and the professor locked eyes for a moment that stretched on in her mind but could only have been a few seconds before he broke his gaze to stare at the back of the classroom. "You're dismissed."

In an instant, everyone was on their feet and packing up their books. It was the last class of the day for many, and she was no exception, but before she got the chance to slip away, her name sounded through the room. "Jen."

"Professor Mondeli?"

He didn't finish his sentence, but she didn't need him to, just waited for the rest of the students to file out and get on with their day. Once the room was empty aside from the two in their staring match, the professor stood. "We have many differing viewpoints, Jen."

“We’re a month from the end of the semester, and you’ve just figured that out, Professor?”

He hummed as he pushed off the desk and stalked closer to her. He wasn’t invading her personal space, not yet, but he was closer than what might’ve been considered appropriate. “Are you calling me stupid?”

_ Stupid. _ Jen let out a chuckle. The man was many things, but he wasn’t stupid, not by a long shot. He had a lot going for him as it was. Tall, dark eyes, grey-streaked hair, and expensive cologne that tended to wear off on her clothes, not to mention him being one of the most brilliant people she knew. She wouldn’t ever let him know that, though. “Not at all. I would like to know why you’re asking law students a question we’ve been asked since high school.”

“Because, Jen,” he began, pressing his body closer to hers with his hand moving to her waist as if on impulse, “sometimes our viewpoints change through time, and it’s good to revisit our opinions to think about them from a new perspective.”

“Are you sure you just didn’t forget to prepare material for your lecture?”

“Where did you receive that presumption, Miss Li?”

“I remember you being quite preoccupied with something else last night,” she murmured into the air between them only a moment before he closed the distance.

It wasn’t a good idea, not right now when anyone could walk in at any moment, but as he slotted his knee between her legs and pushed her against the table behind her, she couldn’t bring herself to care half as much as she should have.

“Ian,” Jen gasped out when he moved to her neck. His hand was up her shirt, already prodding around because he never one for patience when it came to times like this. If he had his way, she would already be on her knees under his desk, but this wasn’t one of those times. “I have homework to do.”

“I’ll do it for you.”

She rolled her eyes as he hiked her up onto the table, spreading her legs enough for him to fit right between them like they were made for him and him only. “Like my professors wouldn’t tell the difference between a student and one of their own.”

“Don’t worry. I’ll add just enough of your level of incompetence into it to make it believable.”

_ Incompetence. _ Jen shoved him and jumped off from the table, buttoning her jeans and hooking the back of her bra once again. “Screw you.”

There was a smirk on his lip as he tucked back in his shirt, and she only mildly hated the shift in her gut from it. “Not in the mood, huh? You should come to my office hours later. We can go over the corrections on your paper.”

Jen grabbed her bag, slinging it over her shoulder as she turned back to her professor. “I’ll pass. Remember about dinner at my father’s.”

“Wouldn’t miss it.”

She knew he wouldn’t. She headed toward the door, aware of his eyes on her back as she left. At the last second, Jen turned back and smiled. “Don’t forget your wife. My mother’s dying to see her.”

The last thing Jen saw before she left was the disheveled hair and narrowed eyes of her professor as he once again faced the reality of his sins.

*

Jen saw her father just once a month, and it always left her feeling the same way.

He would ask her how school was. He had a right to know. After all, he was paying for the most prestigious school in the country. She would tell him about her grade point average, he would ask about extracurriculars, and she would mention the internship and film club. He would tell her to do more. She would agree. Rinse and repeat.

Along with the questions from her fathers, she was also subjected to the questions from her stepmother as she made yet another attempt to get to know her husband’s child that really didn’t want anything to do with her. Jen sat through it like she always did, answered when she had to, and left at the first opportune moment that wouldn’t seem rude.

_ The bitch is at it again, _ she sent to her sister as she sat on the bathroom counter, legs swinging and hitting the cabinets with a  _ thud. _ Their hatred of their new stepmother was the only thing they really talked about these days, the only thing they had in common at all anymore. She wasn’t expecting a reply right away, considering it was nearly 2 in the morning for her sister, but the phone pinged right away.

_ did she go on abt the versatility of peppercorn again?? _

_ No, she kept asking me about seeing her nail specialist. Aren’t you in Berlin?  _ was her reply.

_ No mom and i are in new asia for a meeting. Im 12 hours ahead. And to be fair you do need a nail specialist….. a whole team _

Almost 8 AM then. They’ve had worse time differences. She typed out another message, but noise from outside the door made her delete it all.  _ I resent that you shithead. Talk later. People are here, _ she typed out before jumping off the counter and opening the door to face her truth.

In reality, she knew who likely had come in, but she never was prepared for it. Her professor, dressed in a suit much nicer than he wore to school, stood in the foyer with his wife on his arm, her smile blinding because she didn’t know. She didn’t know the person she was smiling at would single handedly ruin her life. The one person she wasn’t expecting, though, was the girl behind them, as blonde as her mother but obviously more shy as she half-hid behind her father. Harley, just a little younger than herself. 

“Jennie!” His wife’s smile didn’t falter as Jen came closer, and instantly her arms wrapped around her shoulders. After all, they’d known each other for years. It’s what friends did. “I haven’t seen you in so long! How’s your mom?”

“Good,” Jen said, forcing herself to smile as she returned the hug. “She’s in New Asia with Sara right now. Not sure when they’ll be back in Berlin.”

“Aw, that’s too bad. It’s been a few years since I’ve seen her. Will she be coming into town any time soon?”

_ Mom didn’t even come to my college graduation because Dad was there.  _ “I’m not sure. You’ll have to ask her.”

“Come now, Georgia,” Ian said, settling his hand on his wife’s back as he ushered her further into the house. “Let’s not keep the food waiting, Love.”

The word hung in the air for a moment as they walked, striking a chord somewhere in her chest as she stared at Ian’s hand on his wife’s back. He was great at pretending, she would give him that. Maybe he did still love his wife in some way, but it wasn’t enough to fool her. She probably knew him better than anyone in this house now.

“Hey,” said a voice behind her, and Jen pressed her lips together as she turned.

“Hi, Harley.”

The girl surveyed her for a moment, eyes moving from her shoes to her eyes too slowly for it to be comfortable, but Jen refused to squirm under the gaze. She wouldn’t let her have that amount of power. “Hello, Jen. It’s been a while.”

A year. The last time Jen had seen Harley, it had been at Jen’s college graduation. Before that, it had been even longer, but she looked exactly the same as she did at 15. Ageless, the spitting image of her mother. “Yeah. A while. What was your post-plan?”

“The college track. I thought about just working, but…” She didn’t finish the sentence, but Jen understood. Her father was an academic. There was no way the Yale-tenured professor would ever let their child just start working. “I’m starting Yale in the fall.”

Of course it was Yale. She didn’t know Harley well enough to know if she was smart, but she knew her father enough to know there was no way he would ever let her go to another school, not when it really was the best in the country now as the oldest surviving school in Illéa. “That’s… Maybe I’ll see you around.”  _ Let me know if you need a friend  _ hung on the tip of her tongue, but she realized it was probably better to stay away from that possibility. Jen was already going to Hell. She didn’t need to worsen the blow.

Only a few more quiet words were exchanged before they joined the others at the table, who were probably on their second glass of wine by now. At their arrival,  _ the bitch _ brought out the first course. Jen didn’t really register what they were eating, only wincing at the bitterness of the wine on her tongue as she traced the streaks of wood with her finger underneath the tablecloth until the sound of her name brought her back into whatever discussion they were having.

“Sorry, what was that?”

“Deirdre asked if Ian was a good professor,” her father said, eyebrows raised like he wanted to punish her if she didn’t answer correctly. Funny how she might’ve been afraid if he’d been there to do that when she was a child. Instead, it was just funny to see how he imagined himself being a parental figure toward her with  _ the bitch. _ Nevermind the three children they had together. They were young enough that Jen didn’t care enough to get to know them. She’d save them the trouble of commitment issues. On her part, anyway. She wouldn’t speak for when their father would get bored of Deirdre like he did her mother.

“Could be better,” she said as she bit into a bit of whatever the hell they were eating.  _ Are those anchovies? _ “Your lectures are boring.”

Ian’s eyebrows raised in a way that looked like surprise to most people, but she knew what they meant.  _ Say it again. _ “Oh, really? You always seem like you’re paying attention. I’m surprised. Guess I’ll have to dock you a few points.”

She snorted. “Oh, no. I’m so sorry. How can I make it up to you?”

“You’re a smart girl, Jennie. You’ll think of something.”

_ I’m sure I will. _ Their eyes locked for just another moment before she tore them away, unwilling to give anyone time to try and read between the lines. Not that they would. No one would ever expect what’s been happening, and that’s why it goes to Jen’s grave. She wouldn’t be responsible for adultery and manslaughter after Georgia dies of a heart attack. That is, if Georgia didn’t kill her first.

“Oh, you all heard the news, right?” Georgia’s voice broke through the silence, not at all bothered, not at all suspicious. Jen relaxed in her chair just a little bit. “The palace finally sent out the notices. Prince Arin is having a Selection! He was engaged for so long, I wasn’t sure it was going to happen. He moved on quickly, though, only three months out of a years-long relationship. You’re entering, right, Jen?”

She snorted at the absolute absurdity of the question. Her? Enter the Selection? The whole thing was practically a parade of sexism, not to mention the fact that she was a clear abolitionist. Maybe not a vocal one yet because she wasn’t about to be labeled a rebel going into her kind of work, but, hell, one conversation was enough. “Oh, I don’t know if I’m interested in being some kind of rebound contest. I think I’m too old anyway. Isn’t it usually 16 to 19?”

“Yes, but it was pushed back, and now the prince is in his early 20s. You can imagine why they don’t want young teenagers competing at that point. It’s open to age 23, so that’s perfect for you! You should reconsider. I think you would be—”

“Come now, Love,” Ian interrupted. She could see his arm shift even from her position across the table as it settled on what probably was his wife’s thigh. “We don’t want our Jennie to leave us. Besides, could you imagine her at the palace, wearing pretty dresses and smiling? That’s not who she is.”

“But it’s for  _ love, _ Ian,” Georgia insisted. “You don’t think it’s romantic? It’s like fate.”

“Fate,” he grumbled, shaking his head. “You would want Jen to be the future queen? I’d be terrified.”

In reality, Jen understood what he was doing, trying to get his wife to drop a topic he knew would think was absurd, but something about the comments still hit wrong. She wouldn’t be a good queen? Maybe not the traditional one, but a political one? That she could do. That’s what she was studying to do. He knew that. First lawyer, get experience, run for some kind of office. Work her way up. Make something of herself. Make Illéa better. He  _ knew _ that, yet she had a feeling he really meant it.

Jen spent the rest of the meal with her eyes cast down, only eating when she felt too depressing to look at. No one mentioned it, just kept drinking and laughing whilst Jen felt the anger bubbling in her gut. When everyone excused themselves to the living room to continue their half-drunken discussion on the economy, Jen slipped away, making her way upstairs to the guest bedroom they’d labeled as hers. One of the doors was opened, revealing one of the half-siblings she didn’t care to meet staring back at her with wide eyes. She didn’t stop walking. She had a feeling he was glad she didn’t.

She locked herself in the bedroom quietly and slipped off the slippers on her feet to feel the cold hardwood beneath them. Finally, the quiet could surround her like it did back at home. It was funny how that became the life she knew so easily. Her whole childhood was loud. First from the screaming of her parents before their divorce, then from the screaming of the new siblings she was given. First it was Jackson, though he was the quiet one. She liked him the most. After him came Sara, and with Sara came the chaos. She was the one who tore her textbooks and stole money from her wallet whenever she wanted to go out with friends. She was the problem child in the family. Even now, the only time they got on was when talking about Deirdre. If it wasn’t for the bonding topic of  _ the bitch, _ then they would still probably be at each other’s throats, if they talked at all.

It all made her miss living with her family, her actual family back in the German Federation, the ones who had been smart enough to leave Illéa. Even if she was born here, she would never want to stay, not with the way it was now. Ian’s assessment may have hurt, but it was probably the truth. What kind of queen didn’t agree with the fundamental beliefs of the governmental system? Not one anyone would want.

A knock at her door ripped her from her thoughts, and she only opened the door a crack before Ian was slipping inside and locking it behind him. For a moment, she was set at ease from his presence, the jealousy building up through the night fading from her core, but it was then replaced by the panicking onset of fear encapsulating her body. “W-What are you doing? You can’t be here, Ian. What if—”

He didn’t waste any time in slipping his hand up her skirt and pulling down her underwear. “Georgia’s so drunk she’d mistake your father for me. I don’t think she can even make it up the stairs. Get on the bed?”

It was a question, but it sounded more like a command. Even with the anger still tight in her gut, even with the awareness that his wife and child were in the living room on the floor beneath him, she did what he wanted and gasped as his body covered hers on the bed.

She wasn’t sure what the worst part about this situation was.

The fact that everyone in her life would hate her for this or the fact that she didn’t care.

*

The next weekend found Jen knee-deep in a final essay about the court proceedings of a 10-year-old case involving a string of murders of Eights in Angeles. Of the 7 murders found with connections, all were women and most were sex workers. The rest were unknown. Only a few of the names were found of the women, and even fewer families were able to be contacted as was the nature of Eights.

The man taken into custody was an officer working in the palace. Not a high-ranking one, but it was only that fact that the case got any press coverage whatsoever. Eights getting murdered wasn’t a new occurrence, but an officer getting punished for it definitely was.

The case was public enough to garner small protests but not for the lifeless women that were being represented by the prosecution. No, all were in support of the officer, who sat in a pristine suit next to the army of lawyers representing him. What was even worse was that he was unequivocally guilty. It was easy enough to tell from his unfeeling face, but the DNA, the fingerprints, and CCTV didn’t lie. The jury, as biased as they might’ve been, couldn’t deny it either. He was guilty on every single murder. It was almost enough to be happy until the judge revealed the sentence.

Two years of prison, another year of probation. He would continue his officer position in a different province. 

A slap on the wrist for the murders of 7 women. “Women” might’ve been stretching it. Of them, three were younger than 20. Two were under 30. One was only 16. No one spoke their names, no one except the prosecutors. You couldn’t, not unless you want to curse your own family with the presence of an Eight. And maybe Jen didn’t speak of them either, but that didn’t stop her eyes from boring into the page with the few names they had managed to find.

_ Ezra Garney _

_ Hanal Cardiff _

_ Natalie Stewart _

Jen slipped her laptop from her legs and stood. The essay was only halfway done and looking like a monster, but every time she sat down to continue, more words just kept flowing. It was a toss-up whether her professor would even agree with her stance enough to give her a good grade, but she figured if these women couldn’t speak, then she would do her best to do it for them. They may have ended up as Eights somehow, but they deserved some semblance of humanity. She hoped someone gave it to them at least once before their lives were cut far too short.

_ Not that short, _ some part of her mind said, but she pushed that thought away. It wasn’t a secret the life expectancies of Eights weren’t considerably long. She wasn’t in Social Work or anything of the type, so she couldn’t say exactly why, but no matter how the government tried to shield the drugs from the public, it was never enough. Back in undergrad, it wasn’t uncommon to find Sharp or Polish at parties that came specifically from Eights. She’d seen enough people get hooked on the stuff to know it wasn’t just limited to Eights anymore. It was getting worse and would stay that way unless the government did something about it, but she couldn’t see that happening. It was all too easy to pretend something like this could only happen to the Eights because they weren’t like everyone else. The scum of the Earth, completely separate.

The next cup of coffee wasn’t nearly as strong or hot as the last one, but Jen sipped on it anyway as she slipped on her sneakers and headed out the door. It had been a good week since she’d checked her mail, and it was probably piled high with all the porn magazines Sara had subscribed for her as a joke. As suspected, the first image Jen was met with was a pretty blonde in a bikini.  _ Emily White, _ it said upon closer inspection, and she snorted. Sex was illegal until men got horny, and then everything was out the window. 

Along with the magazine were a few generic envelopes that she shuffled through while walking back inside her apartment. Her internet bill was next to a letter from the palace, and after a moment of debating which one was most important, she opened the internet first. She would send it to her dad as soon as she got a second.

The awaiting letter from the palace was exactly what she expected, and she didn’t get much further than the first few lines before tossing it on her kitchen counter. No matter how tempting, she wouldn’t do it. Ian had made his beliefs about it clear, even if she wasn’t sure she agreed with them. The whole political sphere was made up of competing parties in government, even in one like theirs. A rebellious queen may have been unheard of, but she hoped whoever was chosen would be one.

She continued her pursuit through her mail and spam mail— _ Thanks, Sara _ —until she stopped on one white envelope in particular.

“Shit,” she whispered to herself as she tore into the envelope with no particular consideration despite what lay inside. Her fingers weren’t cooperating, shaking as they unfolded the note, and she didn’t even wince when the edge of the paper sliced into her pinky, eyes scanning the word as if they might self-destruct and leave her with nothing.

_ Miss Jen Li, _

_ We thank you very much for your interest in the summer internship at our firm. Unfortunately, we have found other applicants that are better matches, but there are always more opportunities at later dates. If you _

She stopped reading.

Another one. She went to the most prestigious school in Illéa, had a 4.0 GPA, near perfect score on her LSAT, and the most glowing recommendation letters, yet she couldn’t seem to get a single internship at a single decent law firm. It was coming down to interning for a “Have you or a loved one been hurt by a semi?” television guy whose salary went toward commercials and cheap coffee.

_ Damn it. _ Everyone Jen knew was getting accepted into these law firms already, and here she was, a failure yet again. Nobody would understand, and if they did, she didn’t want their pity. All her classmates were miserable little assholes who would nod in pity but spread her struggles around during study sessions in the library between popping pills and crying into the single service dog the school had provided instead of counseling. No, she couldn’t go to them. There was only one other person she trusted.

“Ian,” she whispered into the phone when his  _ hello _ rang in her ear.

“ _ What’s wrong? _ ”

“Can you come over?” She waited for the  _ I’m busy _ or  _ figure it out on your own, _ but it never came. At least he had enough sense to tell when she really needed him.

“ _ I’ll be there soon. _ ”

Soon ended up being a half-hour, which only gave her enough time to change her bedsheets, clean the trash off her floor, and freshen up a little bit. She was spraying  _ Febreze _ when the sound of her locks rustling sounded and Ian was walking through the doors, coughing immediately when he got a whiff of the chemicals encompassing the room.

“For God’s sake, open a window.”

She laughed as she did what he told her, opening the window to let some breathable oxygen in. The smog wasn’t too bad today, at least. “Better than how it smelled a few minutes ago.”

“Maybe,” he said as he made his way to her couch, “just perhaps, you could just clean instead of masking scents.”

Jen scoffed as she made her way over to him, taking a seat not quite on his lap but close enough that he could understand the implication. “That’s too much adult behavior for my liking. Let me be young for just a little while longer.”

“Why’d you call me over? What happened?” His hands were petting her hair like they tended to do, and she leaned into the touch without really thinking about it. She handed over the balled up letter in her pocket and averted eyes while he read it. Once he was done, he sighed through his nose. “Oh, Jennie, I’m sorry.”

“It’s…” She started the sentence without an end in mind.  _ It’s fine? _ No, it wasn’t fine. None of this was fine. “I’ll be okay. I just need to work harder. Get more experience. Maybe I’ll start working at the  _ Yale Daily News. _ I know I used to make fun of them, but maybe the ones won’t—”

“Jen, what if I…” He shook his head. “I’m not sure if it’s a good idea.”

“What?” she pressed, hand settling on his thigh. “Tell me.”

“I know a guy who has his own law firm. It might’ve been a place you’ve applied already, but he’s a personal friend. I could… get him to reconsider. Isn’t this”—He shook the crumpled rejection letter—“based in Angeles? This one is right here in Waverly, so you wouldn’t have to go far.” 

_ Wouldn’t have to go far from me, _ she read in between the lines. They could continue this, whatever it was. Whatever they had started a few months ago under the nose of everyone they knew. This thing she had every reason to stop but couldn’t.  _ Couldn’t. Didn’t want to. _

“Okay,” she whispered, pressing her lips to the stubble on his cheek. “Okay, thank you.”

“Anything for you, babygirl. Anything.”

_ Anything. _ She swung her leg over his hips to straddle him, pressing her lips to his as his hands settled on her waist. “How much time do you have?”

“As much as you want.”

“Then we better make the most of it.” 

Her fingers went to quick work on his shirt, and it was sliding down his shoulders easily. She scooted off his lap to unbutton his pants, but he stood up from the couch to slide them down. She barely just caught the small packages he’d slipped from his back pocket to her coffee table at the last second. “That’s a lot for just a few hours, isn’t it?”

He huffed a laugh as he grabbed one of the condoms from the table and tossed it to her. “Maybe you don’t know what you’re getting into.”

“Don’t I?” She rubbed a thumb over the packet and made a mental note to snag one or two they didn’t use for herself. They were hard enough to get legally when you needed proof of marriage but were also expensive as hell when getting them from a dealer. No one may have really regulated sex anymore, but the government apparently thought lack of protection meant no one would be getting any. How wrong that was. How  _ stupid _ that was. No one in government must have been sexually active because if they were then they would understand how none of these laws were stopping anyone from getting what they wanted.

Jen included. 

Maybe it was just the mechanics of sex, the pull of emotions, but she wasn’t sure it would feel this way with anyone else. Her and Ian… It might’ve been messed up. It might’ve been illegal. It might’ve been life-ruining, but she wasn’t sure she ever wanted to stop. He knew her better than anyone, 23 years worth of information stored in each other. Maybe it had only started escalating recently, but that didn’t stop the other emotions from seeping in, invading places they shouldn’t have.

She knew Georgia would never forgive her if she found out, but she didn’t wish her to. Jen was the one who had taken her husband away. It wasn’t something worth forgiving. She would be forever known as the little whore that could, but the bite of the insult on her tongue hurt less to think about when he was here with her.

They showered together afterward, which only ended up with her under him again, but this time they actually made it to the bed. These were the times she liked the most, when they were done, and he was holding her in his arms, whispering sweet things into her skin like this was normal, like  _ they _ were normal.

“Did you mean what you said at dinner last weekend?”

“Hm?” he hummed, moving his chin to sit on her shoulder. “What did I say at dinner?”

“That…”  _ Don’t be so childish, Jen.  _ “You said I wouldn’t make a good queen. I think I know why, but it hurt a little bit.”

“Is that why you disappeared so early in the night? I missed you.”

A deflection. “Well, you sure remedied that, didn’t you?” The bruises he’d left on her thighs were just now fading the slightest bit.

He didn’t care about the hint of anger in her voice, laughing a bit as he remembered. “Baby, I’m not sure what you want me to say.”

“I got the letter for the Selection today. I-I know that I disagree with a lot of things about the government, but I’m not sure I’d consider that a bad thing, right? The government needs people who butt heads so that changes can be made for the good of society. I know it’s just theoretical, but I don’t think that would make me a bad ruler.”

“Maybe not, but, Jennie, could you see yourself doing that? Flaunting around like a pretty girl with a dress, trying to win the heart of a stupid man? You couldn’t do anything of worth.”

“You don’t even know the girls they’d pick,” she mumbled, even if she knew she was wrong. Everyone knew it was rigged. No way in hell it would be random. They would pick mostly Twos, more Threes, a few Fours, two or three Fives. Maybe a Six if they  _ really  _ wanted diversity, but that was unlikely. They would never scar their precious Prince by forcing him to be subjected to, God forbid, a blue collar worker. They all had to be pretty, well-rounded, and talented. It was college applications all over again, but that didn’t mean none of them were smart. Entitled, maybe, but leave it to a man to deny the idea that an attractive woman could also have a working brain.

“I don’t know the girls they would pick? Fine, they could be smart, but at least they don’t get into the Selection by sleeping with their professors.”

She froze for a split-second as the words processed through her mind. Instantly, she wanted to refute them, but they were true, weren’t they? She had sex with her professor to get an internship. That wasn’t something most girls did. She would be surprised if any of them had done something even similarly as terrible as that. Still, that didn’t stop the comment from hurting, especially coming from him. It would be warranted coming from someone else, but him? The man who had approached her first, kissed her first, initiated everything first? 

“Get out.”

“What?”

She shoved him from her side, standing up out of bed in an effort to get as far away from him as possible. “Get out, Ian. Leave me alone.”

He was shaking his head in disbelief, but he didn’t argue as he shoved on his clothing that was littered around the room. “You’re being such a child. I only said what was true, Jen.”

“I didn’t have sex with you just for an internship. You’re the one who offered.”

“Yeah? Look at where we are. Don’t tell me this wasn’t a thank you because we both know the truth.” He came closer, backing her up into the bed. Sometimes he got like this, but she was never as angry as she was now. Usually she wanted him to stay and calm down, not leave when all she needed was him. Now the only thing she wanted was for him to get out. “You better be careful, Jennie. God knows what the dean would think about your behavior.”

The dean. The man in his 60s who she knew would believe anything a tenured professor would say over the adamant denial from a law student. “You don’t get to play cards with my life, Ian. I’m not yours to fuck with whenever you feel like. You’re fucking married. You have a child startin college. Why risk it like this? Just leave me alone. We were always supposed to have no strings attached.”

“And what if those condoms failed, baby? You think anyone would listen to a slut like you if you ended up pregnant?” He ran his fingers over her stomach lightly enough to send a chill down her spine. 98% effective when used perfectly. Only God knew if he did anything to change that. “You’d be an Eight. A drugged up, little Eight with the baby that got you there. Be careful, Jennie.”

“Get out,” she said again, shoving him away once again. “I don’t want to see your face right now.”

He seemed appeased now, if not from her words then from the fear in her eyes. “See you in class, babygirl,” were his parting words before she was left alone once again, the door slamming behind him the catalyst for her tears.

*

It had only taken a little asking around for her to find him.

They were common enough to find, but she needed someone she could trust, not some placebo to get screwed over with. It only took asking the local Yale political science slut who always fucked around with girls in the library in a strategic spot in between the history of Mesopotamia and the Ottoman Empire that the cameras never could see. She knew him well from a European history class whose books always seemed to be directly behind the ass of the girl in which he’d been fucking.

“Kendall,” she hissed through a stack of books, not wanting to see his delight of the day up close and personal. 

“Who the fuck are you?”

He would know if he saw her, but Jen wasn’t tempted in getting him involved with her personal business. “No one. I just need some information.”

The address he’d given her wasn’t in a great neighborhood, but she wasn’t exactly expecting to be in a neighborhood of Twos anyway. She didn’t even mind the Eights staring at her from the shadows. If Eights could be anything, it was discrete.

“Welcome to Aunt May’s Crafts. What can I help you with today?”

The store smelled so strongly of acetone and ammonia that she struggled for a moment to breathe, but the girl didn’t look surprised by the reaction. Who knew how many brain cells she lost by working here? “I’m looking for someone named ‘Tin.’”

The girl took off her apron and hung it on the hook as she nodded her head for Jen to follow her to the back. She almost hesitated. It was one thing to come into a questionable shop, but to go into an unseeing backroom was definitely among a horror story her parents would’ve told her if they knew about such things. Still, she wasn’t exactly in a position to be a chooser, so she followed the girl.

“Tin will be with you in a minute,” the girl said, shoving her into a room only a bit bigger than a supply closet and closing the door behind her. There wasn’t anything too suspicious about the room, per sé, only the knowledge of what goes on here making it more uncomfortable than it needed to be. She sat down on a chair next to a shelf and slouched, but it only succeeded in making her feel smaller.

It didn’t take long for the door to open again, but it still made her jump when it did. The young man who slipped in didn’t waste any time in unlocking one of the file cabinets that sat in the corner of the room. “What do you need?”

_ This guy’s Tin? _ She opened her mouth, and the words died on her tongue immediately. It was ridiculous. This guy probably supplied much worse than what she was asking for, but, God, she still hated the tightness in her chest. “Plan-B,” she said, her voice small.

“What?”

“Emergency contraception. I… yeah. You have it, don’t you? My guy said you mostly give condoms, but I figured I would try. If you don’t, I’m not sure where else to go, and I—”

“I have it,” the guy said as he closed and locked the cabinet and shuffled to another drawer as if he expected her to get something else. “I’ve got open-box and new. Preference?”

“New.” This wasn’t a good time to skimp on the quality of the product. “I’m—We used protection. I’m not a slut or anything.”  _ Lies.  _ “I just don’t trust him.”

“You don’t have to explain it to me,” he said as he handed her the box, and she mentally kicked herself. Of course he didn’t care. She was sure he got so many people coming and trying to justify whatever they were buying. “But you’re doing the right thing,” he added.

She huffed a laugh. “What I’m doing is illegal. I’m not sure how it can be right.”

The guy shrugged as he leaned against one of the cabinets. In the low light, he was obviously younger than her but not by much. New Asian as well, but she couldn’t tell from which sect. “Taking a pill is better than raising a kid who has no choice in who they become. I’d know.”

“You would?”

A nod, one that’s almost hesitant. She must’ve struck a chord because she doubted he usually was this chatty. “My mom was a Six, worked in a Two’s house. My mom did whatever she could to keep her job. Unfortunately, that ended badly for her. And for me.”

He was an Eight. Somehow she thought he was lower caste because he didn’t look like any Eight she had ever met. Then again, most of the ones she’d seen were from school. They had always been grimy criminals hiding in shadows with rotting teeth and greasy hair. This guy didn’t look anything like that. His hands were rough and his clothes were obviously not new, but he was clean and… pretty. She shook the thought away. “I’m sorry that happened. Neither of you did anything to deserve that.”

“I know,” he said because he knew better than anyone that they were born into a cruel world. He turned from her for a moment, writing something on a notepad and tearing it off for her. “If… If it doesn’t work, that’s your next option, but, for your sake, I hope it does.”

Despite this situation, despite everything, Jen smiled when she took the number from him. “Thank you. Oh, what do I owe you?”

“It’s 150.”

More than she thought, but it was definitely worth it. She dug in her bag for the cash, but as she did so, everything seemed to fall at once. “Shit,” she swore, but the guy bent down and grabbed her the few things that had fallen. A bit of makeup, some coins, and one letter that she’d been keeping hidden away. “Good luck,” he said as he handed it back to her. There was no sarcasm in his voice, nothing that sounded disingenuous. 

_ Luck. _ Maybe. “Thank you,” she said, trading him the cash. “Keep the change. Is that everything?”

“Is it?”

“I think it is,” she said, slipping the box into her bag and closing it up. “Really, thank you. Hopefully…”  _ I see you again?  _ No. Not for this at least. “Hopefully things go well for you,” she said instead, offering a small smile as she headed toward the door. 

“You too.”

With the last of their parting words, Jen left and headed to the Province Service Office to test her luck once again.

*

“Jen, would you stay after class?”

She knew what he was doing, asking her like this when everyone else was here too, but she couldn’t be alone with him again, not yet. “I have somewhere to be, Professor. Sorry.”

A few of her classmates stopped packing up their books to listen in on the conversation. It wasn’t like her to refuse. It wasn’t like any of them to. Professor Mondeli was not someone who liked to be blown off. “It’s urgent, Jen. I’m only asking for a few minutes of your time. Really, it’s in your best interest if you want to pass this class.”

_ Shit. _ The humiliation tactic. Of course he would pull it. The Yale Law assholes would push their mothers overboard before they gave up their reputations. Saying no would be at the risk of becoming the talk of the whole Law department, and that was not something she needed. The only thing she could do was agree, albeit reluctantly.

Once everyone filed out the classroom with whispers thrown about, Ian stood from his desk chair and walked toward her. Instead of sizing her up as he liked to do on occasion, he took the seat next to her and took her hand in his, palms slick with sweat. “I hate fighting with you, Jennie.”

She understood what that meant. An apology but not. Remorse but not. It was a  _ I’m not the one to blame here, but I need you to stop being a bitch without me apologizing and let everything go back to the way it was. _ “Then maybe you should think about the shit you say. Implying I could be pregnant? What the hell is wrong with you?”

“Jennie, I’m—”

“No.” She jerked her hand from his. “There’s no excuse. You know what happens to women who get pregnant unwedded. You can’t just up and marry me. Like you said, I’d be a dirty, little Eight with the baby who got me there. My whole life thrown away because of you. Don’t even think about implying something like that because until you have the same risks that I do, it will never be okay.”

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, reaching for her again. She conceded a hand. “I shouldn’t have said that. It was irresponsible of me, but I’d hate for us to end just because of a silly spat. Aren’t we stronger than that?”

_ Our relationship is built on a foundation of lies and betrayal, _ she wanted to say but kept her mouth shut. It may have been true, but they both knew it already. She didn’t have to remind him. “I think I need some space,” she told him, no matter how much it hurt in her gut. It was ridiculous. It had only been a few months, but it was years and years of feelings tied up in a ball of confusion. “Just for a little while.”

The anger had mostly faded over the weekend, but some things remained as they were, the first being Ian’s choices and the second being hers. Ian couldn’t take back the words he’d said. Jen couldn’t take back either of the choices she made, but the first one had been out of necessity. After what he’d said, she couldn’t risk it. She couldn’t risk losing everything. Like the dealer had said, it was better to take a pill than to raise a child who didn’t have a choice in the life they lived. She wouldn’t tell Ian, though. She doubted he would understand no matter what she said.

Her other choice had just been petty. She was grown enough to admit that, but she didn't count on anything happening to make it worth mentioning to Ian. It wasn't like something would come from it. It was just a small stroke of power that she was able to possess just for a little bit.

Ian still didn’t seem satisfied, but he relented a sigh, releasing her hands. “Alright. I’ll give you some time. Just… don’t disappear on me. Keep showing up to close. I won’t bother you, but don’t fail on my behalf.”

She almost laughed but thought better of it, only allowing herself the smallest glimpse of a smile. Of course he would still be focused on her grades. After all, he was her biggest supporter. Even when he wasn’t her professor, he’d helped her with study guides and revising essays. He was the reason she was on the top of her class even now. Back then, it’d been more innocent, of course, just a family friend helping out a young girl with homework. So much had changed since then, especially herself. “I won’t. I’ll be here the rest of the semester. Don’t worry.” She stood then, hoisting her bag onto her shoulder to prepare her departure as she half-turned away from him. “Thank you, Ian.”

“I love you,” he told her.

The statement made her stomach lurch. The only time he dared to say things like that was in bed, after everything was done. That was the only time they allowed themselves to pretend they were different people in a different place. Their statements were mere whispers, sometimes so quiet they were simply disguised as the gentle ministrations of fingers on skin, drawing circles onto flesh as they soaked in the silence. It was almost easy to forget those days, but, deep down, Jen knew she never really would.

So she didn’t respond, just gave him a weak smile as she retreated from the room and tried to fight the sobs threatening to escape from the ever-so-tight knot in her chest as she ran to escape the crowd of people.

*

“Damn, that was a good one!”

She barely registered the words as she collapsed, chest heaving as she sat slouched against the wall. Not the cleanest option, sure, but the cold tile under her palms was welcome against the layer of sweat now lining her skin. “How fast that time?”

“12.34 seconds! It’s your best on that course yet. You wanna try again?”

Jen managed to drag herself off the floor and unhook the rope from her harness. “Hell no. I’m done for today. I’ve got to go to my dad’s, and I need to get ready.”

Valia shrugged her nose as she unlatched herself from the rope as well. “Have fun. I’ll see you again next week or nah?” 

Next week was Finals Week, but she figured she could spare an hour or two to clear her head from the impending doom of exams, so she agreed and left Valia to spend the rest of her fitness session alone. Jen couldn’t say Valia was her best friend, exactly. They hardly could be considered actual friends at all, but it was the closest she had and was the only person she talked to outside of exchanging notes for class. As much as she hated the gym, the rock-climbing wall was the one thing she and Valia seemed to enjoy doing together, so it stuck. Every Tuesday, Wednesday, and Friday, they climbed for as long as they could. Sometimes they got dinner afterward. Jen had come to like those days.

Instead of eating burgers with her singular friend, Jen would instead be subjected to another round of torture: Her stepmother. Now, she was the first to admit the woman wasn’t an untalented bitch. A bitch, sure, but anyone who wasn’t a Two needed some kind of skill to make it in this country. She’d been a Four, previously, but one that was quite well off, a Head Chef employed at a five-star restaurant in Hattan. Her father meeting her had been an unlucky circumstance on all ends. For Deirdre, it had been falling onto a grill and getting 2nd degree burns up and down her arms that her future husband would end up treating for her. For Jen, it was receiving another person she really didn’t want in her life.

She was pretty, at least. Probably took solace in the fact that her kids would be pretty too.

The drive to her father’s home wasn’t as unbearable as it usually was, her car flying at a speed that was just under the limit the cops would care about. Her father would probably confiscate the car if she got another ticket, but that would only lead to her sending him every dime she spent on the bus. The radio blared the new Ava Jones single that was too catchy for anyone to hate as she pulled into the driveway, and honked at their dogs to get out of the driveway. They didn’t budge.

She rolled down the window and stuck her head out. “Hey, Spot, move.”  _ Spot? Was that his name? Was it a ‘he?’ _ “Who’s going to tell you the driveway is not your personal getaway, huh?”

The dogs stared back at her, unblinking as if they stared straight into her soul. It wasn’t until the front screen door made a little creak that their heads turned all in unison. “Aw, are my babies greeting Jennie?” Deirde called out, making her way over to the dogs on her driveway, their tails all starting to wag.

_ How easy it would be to run you over right now. _ But Jen was hungry. She didn’t feel like going to jail tonight. “Can you make them move?”

It only took a few kissing noises from Deirdre for the pack to book it inside. Another reason to hate the woman. Jen always wanted a dog, and her dad simply hated them. Hate, she supposed, was circumstantial now. 

She ignored Deirdre’s smiling face as she pulled her car forward and tried to tune out her voice when she exited the vehicle, but it managed to seep into her consciousness. “How are you, love? How’s school?”

Jen followed Deirde inside, shutting the door behind her and slipping off her shoes as was customary in her father’s household. That was something Deirdre hadn’t yet pried from his cold, dead hands. For now. “It’s fine.”

“Good, good. I hope you’re hungry. I just got some German-imported beer and used it to make beer-battered chicken, and, Lord Almighty, it’s really something.”

Jen couldn’t say she was fond of the idea of her stepmother using German anything, but it wasn’t up to her to blacklist an entire country from her identity, especially considering the vibrant blonde hair was definitely a product of her German bloodline and not any drugstore boxed hair dye. She was quite pretty too. Liked dogs. Cooked well. It was no wonder her father married her. Maybe in another life, Jen’s mother would have left her father and Deirdre would have been the mother figure that had come into her life at the perfect time to lead her, but, unfortunately, neither of them were so lucky.

Deirdre took it in stride, though. She never mentioned—or, at least, Jen had never heard of her mentioning—the stinging comments or the scathing tone. She was always smiling. An act, probably. Anything for good, old Daddy Dearest.

The children were out of their rooms this time, writing out familiar problem sets on the dining room table, the same ones Jen had been forced to do as a kid. One of them was working intently while the other two kept glancing up to make goofy faces at each other. It reminded her of Jackson and Sara, how they would kick each other silently under the table while their tutor worked with them and Jen, who would complete her rational functions with her pencil always sharpened to a point. 

“Boys, put your homework away and go wash up please.” They did as they were told, shoving papers together and shoving each other to be the first one up the stairs.  _ Those are your siblings, and you don’t even know any of their names, _ something told her, but she pushed the thought away. They weren’t her siblings. They may have been the same amount of blood as Sara or Jackson, but “siblings” had certain strings attached that she didn’t care to get into with a bunch of little kids. To them, she would be nothing more than a glorified aunt, one that nobody liked to see.

“Are you excited for  _ The Report? _ ” Deirdre asked from the kitchen, but Jen wasn’t really listening.

“Where’s Dad?”

“Oh, he’s taking a call in his office.”

She let her mind drift back to the question and scoffed to herself.  _ The Report? _ Who was ever excited for  _ The Report? _ She couldn’t recall the last time it ever had any effect on her day-to-day life, let alone the last time she’d been  _ excited _ for it. She ran through the date in her mind. It was a Friday, of course, but it couldn’t have been a holiday special. They didn’t have many of those, anyway, so she would definitely remember.

That only left—

“Oh.”

“Don’t you remember?” Deirdre asked, oblivious to the fact that she remembered very well, indeed. “They’re picking the Selected today! I know you didn’t enter, but isn’t it exciting?”

“Exciting,” she repeated, unsure of whether she meant it as a question or a statement.

“Is that you, Jennie?” her father called from down the stairs, interrupting the thoughts in her head from scrambling. It was probably a good thing. There was no reason to be over-thinking. There were millions and millions in her province, one of the most populated in the country. There was no way she would be picked, and because of that, nobody had to know.

Dinner was its usual affair. Small talk, wine, good food, more small talk. She was more at ease than last time now that her and Ian’s secret wasn’t hanging in the air between every breath either of them took, and she let herself at least smile at the horrid story her father was detailing from the hospital. She couldn’t remember enough to retell it, but it involved a rectal exam, so she decided she was glad for that fact.

The clock struck eight while they were cleaning up, but they didn’t miss anything by the time they turned the television on, just some opening remarks and statements from people no one really paid attention to except for the royals sitting still in the back. Jen didn’t envy them at all, having to sit through this as much as they did, but she supposed she’d gone through enough law school to know how to deal with boredom.

Queen Anjali was looking as royal as ever, dressed in yellow as she sat tall with her wife and children. She looked proud but not overtly so, just like a parent watching their child deliver a speech without stuttering. Jen couldn’t say she wasn’t an abolitionist, but she also couldn’t say the queen was a radical either. Some wanted the monarchy to die. She simply wanted elections. If they ruled in the background, she may have been able to live with it. Maybe.

The prince was up in the air still. Sure, he was attractive, but she hadn’t seen enough of him yet to get a good read on any aspect of his personality or any of his policies. He could have totally opposite views from his mother, and she would be none the wiser. He seemed like a nice enough person, but whether he would be a good ruler, well, that was still up in the air. 

The Master of Events appeared on the screen then, and with only a very brief introduction, the person everyone had been waiting for appeared. Vandy Post strolled on screen with that signature smile of hers and greeted the audience the same way she always did. To her right, Deirdre watched with a level of interest Jen had never seen from her before, as if Deirdre had been the one to enter and wasn’t 15 years too old for it. Resigned, Jen pulled out her phone and slouched into the couch. There had to have been something to do besides waste her time with an announcement that wouldn’t affect her life in any way, shape, or form. 

_ Did you enter? _ was the text that popped on screen two minutes later, one that she didn’t expect to. It had been over a month since she’d heard from her mother, and that had only been a few minute phone call. It wasn’t that they were angry at each other or anything, but this was what they always did. A phone call once, maybe twice a month if she was lucky. Sometimes there was radio silence for longer, but she tried to keep it consistent. They wouldn’t talk long, only of inconsequential things and how things were. After hanging up, Jen would almost rather have not talked at all. She would’ve been able to imagine things, think that their relationship had improved with the distance. The calls just proved they hadn’t.

Their falling out had been a slow one. Jen wasn’t sure if one could consider it a falling out at all, but that was what it felt like. There was no fight. There wasn’t even anger. Jen had just left, and her mother didn’t care all that much. That was what hurt the most.

_ It’s stupid, _ she typed back, not wanting to answer. It was past 2 AM for her mother. The woman hated Illéa, so why had she stayed up to watch their stupid announcement?

_ Okay. _

She almost typed a reply back, said something to continue the conversation but didn’t, just left her messages and went back to reading another page of her online textbook, only paying attention to the screen whenever her family reacted to the screen.

"She's pretty," Deirdre said about a girl named Evalin from Carolina. "And she's kinda scary," she said about Lilly from Likely.

Most of the girls were very pretty, but that was expected. Most were Threes, a lot of Twos, a few of the lower castes. She was genuinely surprised when a Seven popped up on the screen. Seemed like the palace was looking for a more diverse crew this time around. 

Kalyn Jones of Paloma had so much makeup on she reminded her of a circus performer, but not one anyone wanted to see, so perhaps the Selection wasn't rigged after all.

Deirdre was mid-sentence while making a comment about the girl from Tammins, but she abruptly jumped off the sofa with a squeal, cutting herself off. "Jen!"

She looked up, confused, before her eyes settled on the television and a short glimpse of  _ her _ picture.

“Miss Jen Li of Waverly, Three.”

The room fell completely silent, only the sound of the television and Vandy Post’s voice giving any form of relief as all eyes fell on her.

“You said you didn’t enter.” Her father was the first to speak, and even he didn’t sound pleased. 

“I didn’t say that.” And it was true. She didn’t. Ian had said she shouldn’t enter, but she never said she wouldn’t. “What makes you…”  _ Shit, this was bad. _ “What makes you think I wouldn’t?”

Deirdre seemed to have enough of her husband’s reservations as she stood up, her smile so wide Jen was able to see almost all her teeth. “Jennie, you’re going to the palace!”

Despite the smiles and the now-non-stop ringing of her phone, Jen couldn’t find any room in her body to be happy as everything seemed to collapse in at once.

It takes everything in her to worm her way out of the house, claiming that there was a ton of work needing to be done. It was true, but she really just needed to get away from Deirdre’s smiling face and the ringing of their home phone. Even her own phone just wouldn’t stop, people she hadn’t talked to in years wanting to get a little inside scoop and sell it off to some magazine most likely.

The moment Jen was locked safely in the car, she slammed her fists on the steering wheel as she began shaking. This wasn’t supposed to happen. It was just for her to make a point to herself that she was her own person and could make her own choices. What had they liked about her so much that she ended up being picked out of so many prettier girls? It was probably Yale.  _ Damn it, Yale. _

Her phone rang again, but as she reached to decline the call, a name glared back, one that she didn’t want to face any time soon. She had told him so, but this? This changed things. She answered. “Hello?”

“Jen.”

“Ian, I—”

“I’m disappointed in you, Jennie.”

The tears she’d been holding back suddenly came bubbling up in gut-wrenching sobs as she leaned forward to rest her forehead on the top of the steering wheel. “I-I’m sorry.”

“Oh, baby. Don’t cry.” He knew that when he said that it only made her cry more. “Where are you?”

“My dad’s,” she answered before another sob wracked through her body. “S-She was so happy for me. I can’t stand it, Ian. Who the hell would want this?”  _ Normal girls. Girls who weren’t in love with their professors _

_ In love. _ She couldn’t remember the last time she’d thought about it with Ian. 

“Drive home, baby girl. It’ll be okay. Do you want me to come see you?”

“No,” she whispered. More people was the last thing she wanted. “I told you I needed space, and now I have more to think about.”

“What’s there to think about? You’re not going.”

There it was again, that voice telling her what she could and couldn’t do, as if he had any kind of say. Maybe one day she would’ve listened, but whatever choice she made on this matter was hers. “Screw you.”

“Jen, listen, I—”

“No,  _ Ian, _ I won’t listen. All I ever do is fucking listen. If I stay, then it’ll be because I want to. If I go, it’ll be because I want to. I’m not a child, and you aren’t my father, so stop telling me what to do.”

“You say you’re not a child, but you definitely sound like one.”

“And if I am one, then what does that make you?” She knew it was cold, maybe completely unwarranted, but she needed this finished, and doing it with a few less tears would be ideal.

“Fuck you,” he spat. He didn’t use language like that often. Must have struck a nerve. “Do whatever you want. I’ll see you in class.” He hung up without another word, leaving Jen in silence once again.

She let the phone slip from her fingers as she rubbed away the last remnants of tears from her cheeks.  _ You got yourself into this mess, Jen. Can you get yourself out? _

*

“Bitch, you fucked up good this time.”

“Thanks for the reassurance. I really appreciate it, sis.”

Sara laughed, and the crunching on the other side of the line returned.  _ Kale chips again. _ “I’m just saying. You hate the monarchy.”

“I do not hate the monarchy.” Did she think it was an oppressive regime? Occasionally. Did she think the royals were cool? Sure. Did she want to be one? Definitely not. “Don’t oversimplify things. I just think there are better, alternative forms of government. It’s not like I’m looking to overthrow the bourgeoisie.”

“I don’t know what that is, but okay. Are you going to do it?”

It was a good question, one she definitely needed to figure out extremely soon. She’d already been contacted and told officials would be coming in the next few days to sign papers. She wasn’t sure how to break it to them that she wasn’t entirely sure she was doing it. Surely that kind of thing was unheard of. No girl in her right mind would give up this chance, yet the 50/50 split in her brain said otherwise. There were boundless opportunities associated with this contest. Even some of the Selected from Queen Anjali’s, who apparently didn’t even have a chance, were considered important public figures. This was better than any internship she ever would’ve been able to receive, even if she was only there for a few days, even just being  _ announced. _

Jen groaned as she burrowed further under the covers of her bed. “I don’t know what to do.”

“You’re being a dumbass,” Sara told her point blank. Where did she learn all this language? she thought before remembering their stepbrother. “If I were Illéan and age-eligible, I definitely would’ve entered and gone if I’d been picked. The fact you’re even questioning is crazy.”

“I know you would have, but I’m not you. You like being in the spotlight and wearing pretty clothes and smiling. I’m a law student. I’ve spent the last five years of my life reading books and writing about court cases.”

_ “Being a lawyer isn’t that different to being a Selected, I bet.” _ Jen didn’t ask her to go on because she knew she would no matter what she told her.  _ “You both have to stand up in front of a crowd. You both have to impress people. You both have to follow a ton of rules while a governing body watches. Being a Selected is just a bit more glamorous.” _

“But I don’t know how to be glamorous. I haven’t worn anything aside from sweaters and slacks since Freshman Year. I don’t even think I have any dresses that fit.”

_ “Oh, please. No clothes you take to the palace will be anywhere near acceptable. Don’t even try. I’m just telling you to go. Be normal for God’s sake.” _

Normal. If only she knew. “Thanks, sis. How is everyone?”

_ “Fine. Jackson wanted to come visit this summer, but I’m sure you’ll be preoccupied.” _

Jen snorted. “Don’t count on it. I doubt I’ll be there that long.”

_ “Oh, you’ve decided then?” _

Once Sara put it that way, it wasn’t a difficult decision. It would be different and frustrating and probably one of the most ridiculous things she’d ever attempted to do, but she’d been through enough mock trials to not let that get in her way. “Yeah. Yeah, I think I have.”

  
  


Getting started was a flurry of events in an order she couldn’t keep track of. First, there was some briefing and assurance that Jen was, indeed, who she said she was and an actual student at Yale. She figured they would check as much or else every gold-digger in Hattan would be writing prestigious universities on their applications. After the many prodding questions she was subjected to came the security guard that seemed to think she was in danger every time she stepped foot in her apartment.

“I’m not moving,” she’d told him after he’d told her. He opened his mouth to speak again, but she didn’t give him a fighting chance. “I’m. Not. Moving.”

Of course, this was only remedied by a cheery woman on the phone, who mentioned they were firmly requesting that she be sent off at a place where some breathing thing seemed to love her. To this, she relented. Not because she wanted to give Deirdre even a second of satisfaction or on-screen airtime, no, but because it was the only way to get the palace dogs off her back. She was a woman of survival. She did what was necessary.

The one thing that was the most different, though, was the stares constantly settled on her now. She still had exams to get through, so there was no way she wasn’t showing up for class during the last week of the semester, but her focus definitely faltered when so many sets of eyes seemed to bore into the back of her skull. None of it was that bothersome, except for the ones right in front of her.

“Would you hang back for a few moments, Jen?” Ian asked as he straightened the papers each of them had sat on the desk. Of course he’d made their final exam long and tedious, but she never expected anything less.

_ Again. _ Again he’d cornered her in front of everyone even after they’d fought and knew she needed space. “Unfortunately, I can’t stay, Professor.” The title usually felt awkward on her tongue, but the way it made Ian’s face wrinkle in distaste made it worth it. “I have a meeting. You know,” she said, a smirk tugging at her lips, “Selection things.”

“Jen—”

The last student sat his paper down on the desk, and Jen didn’t wait to hear the rest of Ian’s rant, especially if it left them alone, so she followed the guy out before she heard any hint of protest. Her last class of his was done now, and she had no reason to see him now until she was ready to take that step. Finally, Jen was the one calling the shots. Besides, she wasn’t lying about having a meeting.

The woman who entered her house was obviously someone important but definitely not paid enough if her prematurely greyed hair was any indicator. There was stress lying behind her eyes, but that was the only sign. Otherwise, she was perfectly professional as she walked into Jen’s apartment, heels clacking on the wooden floors. Jen invited her to the small table she rarely used and watched as the woman opened the briefcase she’d been carrying and laid out a stack of pristine, ivory papers in front of her. “Today we’ll be going over all documents associated with the Selection, any rules and regulations you must abide by, as well as a bit of preparation for the day. Will your mother not be joining you?”

“My mother’s in the German Federation,” she said, expecting some kind of sheepish response from the woman, but none was received.

“Pity. Well, you’re an adult, older than many of the girls that were selected, so I’m sure we’ll manage. First off, before anything is discussed, I need this document signed first.” 

She slid it across the table to Jen, who eyed the particularly hefty set of papers. “Is this an NDA?” she asked, as if she hadn’t just completed her first year at law school.  _ Can’t you read? _ “It’s very…” She thumbed through the papers, who flew by one-by-one, as if taunting her by all the unread fine print and addendums. “Extensive.”

“Well, it is the palace we’re bringing to you, dearie, not a vacation home. If you accidentally come across information that puts national security at risk, then we must make sure that is rectified by a very—as you put it—extensive and  _ heavily-enforced _ contract so that everyone in Illéa remains safe.”

“Oh, I’m sure.” She didn’t glance up as she pulled the NDA closer, opening the first page and beginning to read.

“What are you doing?”

“My mother told me to never sign a contract I didn’t read fully, especially one as extensive as this. It’s within my full legal rights, isn’t it?”

“Yes, but we have a lot to cover today,” the woman said, voice sounding more frantic the more she read. “I’m not sure we have time.”

Jen looked up, sending her a sickeningly sweet smile. “Make time,” she said before plunging back in.

She highlighted every line that sounded even the slightest bit suspicious, leaving her with pages and pages of highlights that made her eyes ache after some time. The woman seemed to have resigned to her fate fairly well, now texting on her phone with a little frown at the corners of her lips. She almost felt bad for keeping her so long, but if the palace wanted to rush, that wasn’t Jen’s fault.

“In section six it says that I may not disclose to anyone outside of approved palace staff any actions made by the prince that could possibly negatively affect his reputation.”

The woman is only halfway paying attention. It had to have been her fourth question in the past half hour. “That’s right.”

“So if he rapes me then the only consequences will be delivered in the form of palace staff whilst I’m silenced from ever disclosing those actions to the public or police?”

The woman straightened quickly as her expression went from bored to scandalized in a split-second. “Excuse me?”

“I’m just saying it’s a real—”

“Miss, just because you were selected does not mean you’re special, and disrespecting the prince will get you nowhere.”

_ Disrespecting the prince who has done nothing to earn my respect. _ “Very well. I’ll sign the contract and any others I must adhere to.” She’d read shadier NDAs before, and she knew there would be no getting out of it anyway, but she wanted just a semblance of knowledge of what she was getting herself into. The former Selected from two generations back had only ever said good things about it apparently, but there had to have been some level of difficulty associated with spending time with 34 other women while trying to date the same man. Hopefully the girls would be nicer people than she was. Then they would actually have a shot at winning.

Jen signed the other contracts with only a skim-read this time. None of them were as extensive as the NDA, luckily, and the woman packed them into her briefcase with a relieved sigh. She’d finally escaped the beast. “Now we just need to go over some rules. They’re straightforward, but if you have any questions, please speak up.” No doubt she didn’t want her to.

The rules were almost reasonable. Every time her thoughts crept that way, the woman added something else that made her roll her eyes. After three long, excruciating hours, Jen was able to see off the woman and return to the comfort of her own bed with no feelings of dismay.

_ This is definitely a mistake, _ her mind said, but she wasn’t a coward. From this point forward, there was no turning back.

*

The night before the departure, Jen was at her father’s home yet again.

Deirdre was cooking something she knew Jen liked, and Jen had forced herself to thank her. After all, she wouldn’t be seeing Deirdre for, well, hopefully more than a day, so some good graces could be extended. 

Jen wore a sweater and jeans out of principle because she knew all the Selected constantly wore dresses, and she had no idea when the next opportunity would arise. This particular one was her favorite, blue, marked with the Yale “Y,” and it hung off her body but not enough to make her feel like she was swimming in fabric. The little bit of mascara was just for herself, the light chemical smell just a little reminder of what exactly she was throwing herself into. Jen jogged down the stairs, already starving, but what she came to face was not at all what she had in mind.

“Hello, Jennie.”

He really didn’t know when to stop, did he?

“Surprise!” Deirdre sang, her pearly-white teeth showing like they always did. “Ian and Georgia wanted to have dinner and see you off tomorrow. Isn’t that sweet of them?”

“Yes,” she answered, her voice hopefully sounding much more sure than she was. “Very sweet.”

She greeted Georgia first, hugging her and not wanting to let go. The woman pulled back to look at her with concern in her eyes, but Jen just shook her head and awaited her fate. Ian’s arms wrapped around her next, and she forced herself to hug back for appearances only. “Congratulations.” The tone was nothing genuine. She knew him well enough to know that much.

The unsettled pit in her stomach stayed with her throughout the night, causing her to only be able to take a few bites of the dinner Deirdre had prepared. When questioned, she brushed it off as nerves and received understanding nods. Well, except from one.

She never caught Ian's eyes, but she knew he was staring, thinking about her. She couldn't say she was scared because Ian wasn't a particularly violent person, but he was spiteful. He didn't like being wrong or disobeyed. This Jen knew all too well. She would only hope he wasn't too angry, even if she was the one who had a right to be.

"We ought to be going," Georgia said after dinner had finished and she'd downed two subsequent glasses of wine, and Jen almost breathed a sigh of relief. Finally.

Deirdre stuck her lip out in a little pout. "Aw, won't you be coming to the ceremony tomorrow? I'd hate for you to drive all the way home to just have to come back in the morning so early."  _ No, no, no, no, no. _ "Besides, it’s nearly curfew. Why don't you just stay the night?"  _ Fuck you, Deirdre. _

"Oh, I don't know. We—"

"Would love to," Ian finished, sliding his hand onto his wife's back. All the motion succeeded in doing was making her more sick, probably exactly what he wanted. "Thank you, Dee. You're always so generous."

Ian knew how much she hated her stepmother. He was never rude but never so polite either. All this just to get under her skin.

"I think I'll head up," Jen said, arms crossed over her chest. The only thing she could do to not to fall apart was hold herself together. "Big day tomorrow. Goodnight." She headed toward the stairs before anyone could stop her. She was almost home free, halfway to her room, when she heard another voice.

"Jennie, honey, wait." It wasn't at all who she'd expected. Georgia ran after her without her usual smile, instead replaced by the same look of concern she'd given earlier. This close, she could smell the wine on her breath. "Darlin', are you alright?"

"What makes you think I'm not?"

"You… You seem off, Jennie. I don't know what it is, but something isn't right. What's wrong?"

"I…" There was always the truth. She could tell Georgia she'd been screwing her husband for months and accidentally may have fallen in love despite everything, but then she wasn't sure she was able to face the reality. Maybe someday she would admit it in a letter hidden inside of a box only meant for her great-grandchildren to find after her peaceful death. Perhaps they would think it romantic, a forbidden love that bore no fruits and use it to fulfill their own desires of happiness. Until then, she took it to the grave. "Just nervous. Being in front of everyone. Scary stuff."

The public was the least of her worries, but she wouldn't admit that, not when Georgia seemed to eat up every bit. "Don't be scared. Angeles won't know what hit them when you stroll into town." She took Jen into her arms, and Jen inhaled the scent of the lavender perfume she always liked to wear. "You're one of the kindest, beautiful, and most honest people I know, and not even a prince deserves you, Jennie."

She couldn't stop the tears this time as everything seemed to fall apart at once. Jen rarely cried and the past week had been session after session of just losing it. But, damn, she deserved this one. It was at that moment Jen wished she could tell Georgia that she was wrong, that Jen wasn't kind or honest or beautiful. She was disgusting. She had everything she could possibly want and still want more, even the things she never should have thought of.

But Georgia still held her, the kindness, and beauty, and honesty seeping from one fingertip much more present than Jen ever had in her entire body. She didn't deserve this woman.  _ He _ didn't deserve this woman. And this woman didn't deserve the reality of her life, and Jen would die before she ever let her know.

"It's okay, darlin'," Georgia said, her hand caressing Jen's back like her mother would have if she'd cared about her enough to show. "You're gonna be okay."

She nodded but knew it was a lie. 

Georgia and Ian stayed in the guest room next to hers, and the faint murmurs of their voices finally faded while she laid in bed and pretended to sleep. The thoughts kept pressing down on her skull, making it impossible to get any semblance of meaningful rest, and at this point, she was resigned to being up all night and exhausted for the morning.

She missed her apartment, how the mattress was just stiff enough and the air constantly smelled of the vanilla air freshener she had plugged into the wall. Though her bag was packed, she couldn't help but feel like she didn't bring enough. Hopefully the palace had enough to keep her entertained. Then again, who knew itself she would be going home in just the next few days? It could all be over so soon, and not a single thing would be worth it.

The jiggling of her door handle was what interrupted her thoughts first and then the quiet knock on her door. She had enough mind to know who it was but maybe not enough self-control to ignore it. Ian stepped into her room the moment her fingers had twisted the knob, and instantly the door was locked again and his lips were on hers.

"Missed you so much, baby," he breathed into her neck, clutching her close and so, so tightly. "Are you still mad at me?"

_ Yes. _ "No."  _ I hate you. _ "I missed you too."  _ I hate that I can't just give you up. _

They ended up the same way they always did, but this time they were quiet like their lives depended on it. In a way, it did. Georgia was sleeping just on the other side of the wall. If she awoke with her husband moaning inside of Jen's room, there would be questions. Jen didn't herself think too much about it though, holding onto Ian tight as his lips continued to kiss her.

Tears ran down her cheeks, just small ones, because she knew what this was. An apology. A confession. The things she always wanted and could never have.

"I love you," she whispered into the room, only filled with the sounds of their soft gasps.

"I'm sorry, Jennie."

And she knew what he meant.  _ I'm sorry you love me. I wish it didn't have to be this way, but it is. There's no changing that. _

There was no "Jen and Ian" because there never was supposed to be. They weren't just star-crossed lovers. They were hopeless. Fucked up, incompatible, and hopeless beyond repair. None of it would work, and she  _ knew _ that but never had the sense to care. Even when everything in her mind screamed at her to stop, told her she didn’t want this, she kept going, and that was the scariest part.

It had to stop now. This was the last time. She was sure of it now.

Perhaps he knew what the look in her eye meant. Perhaps he knew from the start. And maybe that was why he made the choice that he did.

"I don't want to lose you."

She didn't know what that meant until he began dressing afterward, never leaving to go to the bathroom. When she thought of it, he didn't do what he always did, didn't pull out the little foil wrapper from his wallet. They just… did it.

"Ian—" she tried to say, but he didn't spare a glance back at her as he shut the door, heading back to the bed he shared with his wife, who slept peacefully, unknowing that her husband tried to get their oldest friend's daughter pregnant.

*

The man was the most brilliant yet stupid person she had ever come across. This situation only provided more proof to support that hypothesis. She prayed she would receive no more.

What his thought process was that thought any of this was a good idea wasn't something could even begin to muster the time to understand, but she knew if he'd disclosed anything, he would find a way to excuse every wrongdoing and pin it on  _ her. _ Maybe it was a last “screw you” or maybe he just wanted her to stay. She would never know. Perhaps in a different place, she would accept her fate, but this was Illéa. This wasn’t the place to have an illegitimate child.

And fuck him for putting her in this position.

It was after curfew, the roads lit up only by dim street lights as she walked in the shadows. She couldn’t get caught, not with her face practically everywhere in Waverly. Even coming out was stupid, but she had no choice. She couldn’t go to the palace with the chance of being pregnant, especially not with  _ his _ baby. She already told herself all this would stop, and it was just another way for him to tie herself to her permanently. Permanently but stupidly. Perhaps he’d meant to be with her officially afterward, divorce Georgia and be forever disowned from Jen’s family, as if any of that was a valid solution to their problems.

It was evening the last time she ended up here, but it was so late now, and the further in she got to the city, the more nerve-wracking it was. Street lights flickered, and the shadows of the night seemed to multiply in the alleys. Her mother had told her this was how girls like her got murdered, and she had no doubt it was true, but some things were more important.

She turned a corner and ran straight into someone. She stumbled back quickly, apology on the tip of her tongue, but she eyed the lit cigarette in the woman’s hand and the high heels and the dress before all words drained from her mind. A sex worker. Not just in a warning or a court case but in real life and looking so profoundly… human.

“Somethin’ wrong?”

The woman had a scar down her cheek and burn marks covering her arm. As much as Jen wished to, she couldn’t tear her eyes away.

The woman scoffed as she dropped the cigarette, grinding into the ground with her shoe. “Fucking kids. Find a different corner.”

“I’m not—”

“Shit,” the woman swore, craning her neck to look at the street. Jen followed her gaze to the car lights. “Move.”

“What?”

The woman’s hand closed around her wrist before she could stop it, yanking her a few steps into a dark alley and closing her hand around her mouth. She tried to pull away, but the woman held tight as they pressed against a dumpster. A car went by slowly, except it wasn’t any regular person. It was the police. They didn’t seem to have seen them as they kept driving, but Jen held her breath until they turned a corner, and that was when the woman finally eased her grip on Jen. “Your first time out here?”

“I—”

“Their headlights are a different tint. They’re the bright ones. Customers are always dimmer. Now get off my corner.”

“I’m not a prostitute.”

The woman laughed as she pulled another cigarette out from her pocket. “That’s what I said too.”

Jen left as the woman lit her cigarette again, trying to shake off the disgust nipping at her skin. She was just a woman and smelled only of cigarettes and coffee. She wasn’t that much older than she was either. The woman may have had sex for money, but Jen couldn’t say they were very different from each other.

Jen still ducked into alleyways whenever cars passed no matter how bright their headlights were. She didn’t trust herself enough to recognize. The journey to her destination was over quickly after that, and she found the familiar door to Aunt May’s Crafts. It was locked as she expected it to be, so she began knocking. There was never a guarantee he would be here, but she had no other options. She had to try.

After a minute of waiting and continuous knocking, Jen sunk down onto the steps of the front entrance and tried to think of something else, something that could fix this, but she had no other option. It was this or everything was over. She doubted the palace was very forgiving about this sort of thing. No one may have really cared about virginity status anymore, but they sure as hell would care if she ended up pregnant with a child that was decidedly not the prince’s.

Just as she was ready to crawl back home, she heard the small rustle of a bell and a creak of a door behind her, and, suddenly, everything didn’t look so bleak anymore. “What the hell do you want?”

Jen jumped to her feet, wiping the tears off her cheeks as she turned to face the person. It was the same girl who had greeted her in the shop last time, but she looked a lot less friendly this time, which was saying something because she hadn’t exactly been friendly last time either. “Oh, thank God. I need to see Tin. Please, it’s an emergency.”

“It’s after hours. He won’t see you. Sorry if you didn’t divvy up your stash correctly, but stop beating on our door before you get us all in trouble.”

She shook her head, hoping her expression looked pitiful enough to strike some semblance of a chord in this girl’s heart. “Please. You don’t understand. I can’t wait until morning. I’m not on drugs. It’s different. Can’t you just give me it? I’ll give you money, more than you ask for. I promise. Please just help me.”

The girl stared down at her, eyes narrowed. Jen wasn’t liking these odds. She figured if they couldn’t help her, they might know someone who would. It wasn’t ideal, but neither was the rest of it. Before the girl could answer, her eyes caught sight of something in the distance, and she was yanking Jen inside the house before Jen could even see what it was. The girl let her go once inside, and Jen wasn’t able to stop herself from bumping into a plate and sending it tumbling to the ground, the sound of the shattering glass deafening in the silence.

The girl said nothing, but Jen could see another police car strolling by then. She’d saved her. It would’ve been easy to just let Jen get caught and face few repercussions, but she didn’t. That had to mean something. 

“Tin isn’t here,” she said before Jen had a chance to say anything. She went to walk past Jen but swore when her shoes crunched under the glass, as if she’d been too preoccupied to hear it fall. “Aw, what the hell? Grab the broom. It’s behind the counter.”

Jen did as she was told and cleaned up the mess with no chatter to speak of, but even when she was finished, the girl didn’t tell her what was going on, only disappearing behind a corner. Jen went after her, following up the stairs despite the dirty glances back at her. “Don’t you mind? Stay downstairs.”

“This is where you live?”

The stairs only led up to one small room with an open window, and in each corner was a sleeping back set-up. Two were black, one green, and one red. Despite the similarities, they all looked a bit different from one another. A few had pictures pinned up on the wall. One had clothes neatly folded atop the perfectly straightened sleeping bag while another had socks strewn across the pillow. There were all little knick-knacks next to their makeshift beds, ranging from a ratty toy bear to binoculars. In the middle of the room was a deck of playing cards completely strewn across the floor while a portable radio quietly played music. Jen wasn’t sure if the candles sitting in each corner were very safe, but she wouldn’t question it. 

“Yeah. What of it?”

“It’s…” Jen ran her fingers across the doorframe, not really sure what to say.  _ It’s nice? Cute? Charming? _ “It’s not exactly how I thought Eights lived.” _ Nice one. _

The girl snorted as she sat down on the red sleeping bag, the one with the stuffed bear and photos. “We don’t all live in paper boxes. That’s what your kind may think, but we don’t.”

“My kind?”

The girl lounged back as she glanced Jen up and down. “Castes aren’t always reflective of looks, but I know damn well you’re above a Five. Maybe you’re a nice Four, but if I had to guess by the posturing and clothing, I’d say a Three.”

“You always that good at guessing?”

“The Yale sweatshirt definitely didn’t give you away.” Jen glanced down at her sweatshirt and swore. She’d thrown on the first thing lying around in her room, but it only succeeded in proving her identity further. The girl laughed. “Calm down. There are thousands of students at Yale. I had you narrowed between a Two and a Three because you’re bossy like a Two, but most Twos go to Angeles University or something like that. More of their kind to suck up to. The Threes love Yale.”

That they did. Despite diversity initiatives among the top-tier colleges to include the lower castes in their admissions, it hadn’t done much, and Threes were definitely the most popular pick for chosen students since it was literally necessary for any kind of work in their caste. Being a stupid Three was an unfortunate occurence, truly.

“How long have you been out here?” Jen asked, leaning against the wall. She’d been walking nonstop for multiple hours, but she was just grateful her father’s house was closer to her destination than her apartment. Then again, if she’d just stayed in her apartment, none of this would’ve happened in the first place.

“Do you always ask this many questions?” No, but the questions were the only thing keeping her from losing it again. She almost apologized, but the girl just sighed. “About six years.”

_ Six years.  _ The girl couldn’t have been more than 20. At the confusion on Jen’s face, the girl smiled. “I ran away when I was 13. Sometimes I regret it because I guess I didn’t realize how permanent it was, but I wish I’d gone for help rather than hiding. I never regret leaving, though.” Jen didn’t ask why she left. She could tell already it wasn’t a subject the girl wanted to breach. “My name is Beatrice.”

“Beatrice,” Jen repeated, despite the familiar warning in her head.  _ Never speak the name of an Eight unless you want that fate for someone in your family _ . The name suited her with the red hair and freckles on her cheeks. “I’m… Jenna.”

"Jenna. Nice to meet you, I suppose." She glanced at a clock that was nestled at the side of the sleeping bag across from hers. "They should be back by now. They know better than to run late."

"'They?'"

Beatrice didn't get the chance to answer because a hand appeared on the edge of the open window, and Jen almost screamed as a person pulled themselves through the window, but Beatrice didn't even spare them a glance. "You're two minutes late."

The person in question, dressed head to toe in black, pulled the facemask off their head as they laughed. He was dark-skinned with curly hair and the biggest smile she’d ever seen an Eight give. "Sorry, got a little held up."

Another set of hands appeared along with its attached body, this time much smaller than the guy before them. Their facemask removal revealed another girl, who looked similar to the boy but decidedly did not waste time with introductions. "Who the hell are you?"

The guy who had come in first looked in her direction for the first time and tilted his head. "Oh, hey."

The girl slapped him with her facemask. "Wendall!"

"Aris!"

The last person who came in was almost enough to make her cry because he was the key to her salvation. Hopefully. "What the hell is she doing here, Bea?" Tin asked, definitely not pleased, and Jen's hopes decreased dramatically.

"She came to see you."

"You know the rules! What were you thinking letting her in? And up here of all places! We sleep here."

"She's a Three. It's not like she's gonna make the place dirty."

"Bea—"

"I'll give you 500," Jen piped up, her voice sounding much stronger than it felt. "500 for the same thing as last time. You remember me, right?"

Tin stared at her like she was the absolute filth of the Earth, which was funny coming from someone of his caste, but that was already how she felt, so it didn't make much of a difference. She only let herself breathe when he told her to follow him and jogged down the stairs without waiting.

The little room was exactly the same as before, and he wasted no time in digging through the drawer where he'd kept the package. "You know, maybe next time you can use a condom like a normal person instead of being a slut."

She froze in place, and they stared at each other for a long moment. His eyes seemed to widen, as if he'd realized what had just come from his mouth. "Holy shit, I am so—"

"It's true," she whispered, pressing her lips together. "That's what I am."

"Fuck no, that's so shitty. I shouldn't have said that. It's none of my business, you know, what you do with your boyfriend.”

“He’s not my boyfriend,” she told him. He didn’t need to know. His opinion meant nothing to her, yet she needed to say it just once to someone other than herself. “He was never my boyfriend. I shouldn’t have been with him in the first place.”

Tin paused from searching through the drawer, tapping his fingers on the top of it like some kind of nervous tic. “If you were—If he—The hospital will give it to you legally for free if that happened. They’d need proof, but—”

“It’s not like that. Everything was consensual, except for the fact that he was angry with me and decided to give me another problem. He threatened to once, but… I didn’t think he would do it. I should’ve known he would pull it again, but I’m an idiot.”

Tin let a sigh out through his name as he shook his head in what looked like disbelief. He almost seemed… angry. “I hate men.”

She huffed a laugh. He would understand, of course, even if he was a man himself. He’d already mentioned what happened to his mother, how she hadn’t had a choice. Men did this kind of thing and still received no repercussions for their actions because it was always the woman’s fault for not being pure and letting herself be knocked up. “Yeah, me too.”

He turned to her then with the box in-hand, brand new the same as last time, but he didn’t hand it over immediately, head tilted as he stared at her face.  _ Oh, shit.  _ “Are you—”

“Please don’t tell anyone,” she begged, panic rising steadily in her chest. She should’ve known someone would recognize her, and it had to be an Eight, someone poor enough to actually need the money the press would give them for the story. Everything was over. “I’ll give you whatever you want. More money. Anything.”

Tin laughed for the first time in the little time she’d known him, genuinely laughed with his eyes crinkled in the corners. No one ever told her Eights could do that. “Don’t worry. Eights may be many things, but we’re not snitches. Your secret’s safe with me, Lady… Sorry, I didn’t actually pay attention to your name. If you’d played it cool, I might not have even realized. Maybe work on your acting.”

“I’m a Three, not a Two. My acting will do just fine,” she said before adding, “Jen. My name is Jen. Your name’s actually Tin?”

“No.”

He didn’t provide any other explanation, so she didn’t push it. Instead, she pulled out her wallet from her bag and offered him the money she’d tucked away specifically for this. “There’s 500 here, like I said. Would you mind if I took the pill here? I can’t have packaging for someone to find.”

Tin snorted as he handed over the package. “For that price, you can sleep in my bed if you want to.” 

He pocketed the money while she opened the package and slipped out the pill. She swallowed it with no consideration except for a fleeting  _ fuck him _ that flitted over the consciousness of her head. “Who are the other people that live with you?”

“Oh, that’s Bea, Aris, and Wendall. They’re all Eights. Bea’s a runaway, Aris went to jail, Wendall was disowned, and you already know about me. Very sad stuff, I know. Spare your feelings. Our lives are good compared to others out there. God knows I would want to sleep on a real bed again, though.”

“Again? I thought you were born out here?”

“I was. Stayed in youth shelters and had a mattress most of the time there until I was of age. After that, there’s not many resources for adults and even fewer for men. It’s alright, though. I can’t complain about this place, and the beds creaked anyway.”

For a moment, she wondered what he would think of her stiff mattress but immediately shook the thought away.  _ What even was that? _ She cleared her throat, averting her eyes from his face. “Where’s your mother now?”

“Dead.” His voice didn’t waver, but she could tell she’d hit a nerve. “Some palace guard killed her around 10 years ago, I think. I was eleven.”

_ Palace guard. 10 years ago. Eight murdered. Fuck.  _ “The Dietrich Murphy case.”

Tin huffed out a laugh as he leaned back again one of the cabinets. “Yeah, that’s what you would know it as, wouldn’t you? I never bothered to learn the guy’s name, though.” She opened her mouth to apologize, but he raised a hand. “Don’t. I don’t need an apology from a Three because you don’t get it. All you people see are these whores out on the street because they’re disgusting and uneducated, but that was my mom, who would do anything for me to have a better life, even if it meant destroying herself while doing it. Meanwhile, I have to live every day knowing my mother wouldn’t have been in this mess if it wasn’t for her getting pregnant with me.”

“You said her employer forced her. That wasn’t her fault, and it isn’t your fault. You didn’t deserve to be predispositioned into this life for being born.”

“Are you gonna fix it then?”

She glanced up at him. “What?”

“You’re going to the palace, aren’t you? Gonna meet the prince and the future queen? Maybe you are the future queen. You have all these opportunities, so use them and fix this fucking system.”

Jen smiled a genuine smile for the first time in a long time. No one had talked to her like they had any faith in her in a long, long time, and hearing it from someone who had the hardest possible life made it feel that much better. “Okay.”

He stuck his hand out. “Shake on it.”

She didn’t hesitate in slipping her hand into his palm and giving a firm squeeze. Despite the situation, despite everything, here in the house of a group of Eights with nothing to their names but each other, Jen felt happy.

“Oh, before you go." He opened a cabinet, pulling out a handful of condoms and setting them in her hand. "Use these next time. I don't have business in Angeles for you to come running to in the middle of the night."

She accepted his gift graciously, though she was definitely planning to take abstinence seriously from that point forward. “Thank you, Tin.”

“Martin,” he said, looking down at his feet.  _ Martin. _ The name suited him somehow. “Good luck, princess. I don’t know if it means anything, but I’ll root for you.”

There was never a superstition about Eights giving well-wishes, probably because no one cared enough to talk to them. Jen left Aunt May’s Crafts with a weight off her shoulder and the knowledge that even a single Eight from one of the poorest parts of her province wanted her to win, and that was enough.

**Author's Note:**

> TW: Student/Professor relationship. (He has known her her whole life. Not a healthy relationship.) Cheating. Implied sexual content. Manipulation. All sex is consensual, but there is attempted non-consensual impregnation. Discussions of pregnancy. Discussions of abortion. Discussions of murder of young sex workers. A bit of slut-shaming. 
> 
> Thanks for reading lol. Hope you enjoyed ? Can't wait to see how the prince deals with this trainwreck.


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